


You Point Your Finger Right On Me

by whyyesitscar



Series: Brittana Week [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Santana notices Brittany and one time she decides to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Point Your Finger Right On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Later than I would have liked to put it up, but I'm still technically on time! Written for day seven of Brittana Week (AU). Inspired by [this](http://brittanypierce.tumblr.com/post/33308722687) gifset.

**one.**

The first time Santana sees her, it’s an unseasonably warm day in March her sophomore year. She’s on her way to The Lima Bean with Kurt, Mike, and Quinn. Of course she dressed for snow and didn’t realize it would be this warm until she stepped out of the house, so she’s stuck wearing a giant fluffy hat that looks like it belongs in Moscow and not Lima, Ohio. She fully expects Mike to break out in some ridiculous Russian accent the minute she opens the door.

Her head gets hot as she walks to the coffee shop, but she can’t take the hat off now. Magazines won’t tell you this, but half of being successful at fashion has to do with how committed you are to what you’re wearing.

Santana can see Mike from the window as she gets closer. He’s telling some kind of story but as soon as he catches her eye, his face lights up and he turns to Quinn, smiling, gesturing with his hands like they’re field goal posts framing his head. Santana just rolls her eyes.

The place is kind of packed, which is okay because it gives her time to decide what she wants. Usually she’d go for her normal large black coffee, but it’s kind of hot today and if she’s going to withstand a couple of hours of hat jokes, she’s going to need some sugar.

“Nice hat,” she hears from behind her.

Santana turns around, expecting to see Quinn or Kurt because the voice talking to her is not Mike’s deeper, charming lilt. Instead, she finds a pretty girl with blond hair and a yellow hat.

“You, too,” Santana says, flicking her eyes upward.

“Thanks,” the girl smiles.

Santana really looks at the girl, narrowing her eyes and trying to place her face. “You look familiar…” she starts.

“Brittany,” the girl answers. “I’m Brittany; I’m on _The Muckraker_. I wrote an article about Regionals.”

Santana finally places her, remembering the article. It had made her smile because Brittany spent almost the whole thing talking about how glad she was that the judges had seen through Vocal Adrenaline’s showboating and declared New Directions the winner. It was the comment on Jesse St. James that had stuck with her, a whole paragraph about how he must come from a family of construction workers because he played the piano like his hands were wrecking balls.

“Yeah, I remember,” Santana grins. “I liked that one. You should write about Nationals next; it’s coming up in May.”

“Maybe I will. I think JBI’s got me on the fashion beat, though.”

Santana nods. “Right, the big underclassmen dance. Nothing like an article about short dresses and a hundred copies of the same tuxedo.”

“What JBI wants, JBI gets,” Brittany shrugs. She points an imaginary recorder at Santana’s chin. “Tell me, Santana, what do you think the appropriate fashion statement is for this dance: spring florals, or something a little more sophisticated?”

Santana laughs and leans into the microphone, playing along. “Florals for spring. Groundbreaking,” she quotes, which earns a chuckle from Brittany. “It doesn’t matter; I’m not going anyway.”

“Really? Because if every girl in a short dress looked like you, I wouldn’t mind so much writing about it.”

“What?”

Brittany just smiles wider. “You’d look really good in red.”

Santana kind of just stands there because this is new. She’s Santana, she’s gay, she’s out to New Directions and her parents, but this is still new. So instead of saying something ridiculously charming, she just orders her coffee—large black, iced, because it’s faster—and shuffles off as fast as she can to where her friends are sitting.

“Nice hat,” Mike teases.

Santana sips her coffee and sneers. “Shut up.”

“Why were you talking to Brittany?” Kurt asks.

“She’s writing a piece on fashion for the dance. You know Brittany?”

“She’s in my English class,” Kurt nods. “You should take her to the dance.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “I’m not your little gay project, Liberace. Stop setting me up with every pretty girl I so much as breathe next to.”

“But just think—”

“No.”

“You’d be _so cute_ together—”

“Can it, Kurt.”

“You should take her,” Quinn chimes in. Santana just raises her eyebrows, exasperated. “What? Look, you don’t have a date yet and you always get ready for dances at your abuela’s house, and you know she asks a million questions. She’s not going to shut up when you show up without a nice boy and you still have to tell her you’re gay, so take Brittany and kill two birds with one stone.”

Santana averts her eyes and plays with her cup. “No, I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Okay. But what are you gonna do about your grandma?”

Santana thinks, flicking the lid of her coffee with her thumb nail. “Well, I have an idea.”

“Okay,” Quinn prompts.

“Quinnifer—”

“Stop calling me that; I _hate_ it when you call me that.”

“—will you come to the dance with me?” Santana finishes.

Quinn stares at her like she’s disappointed. Santana just waits.

“Ugh, fine,” Quinn finally relents. “But I’m not coordinating outfits with you.”

“Oh, yes you are,” Kurt interjects. “I can already think of five possibilities that would look stunning on both of you.”

Santana grins triumphantly and sticks out her tongue.

Brittany writes a couple of articles before the dance, but Santana’s favorite is an editorial about how Russia is the lost fashion hub of the Eastern hemisphere.

She especially likes the bit about hats.

/

**two.**

Brittany finds her again, three weeks later, only Santana doesn’t see her at first.

It’s the day of the math portion of the Ohio Graduation Test and Santana couldn’t care less. She could pass this test in her sleep—she’s heard stories of people who actually did fall asleep taking it and still passed—and there’s nowhere she wants to be less than in a room full of her classmates and a stuffy test proctor.

But it’s mandatory for all sophomores and so she sits in the third row all the way to the right so she can be closer to the door when it’s over. She doesn’t pay attention to Mrs. Hagberg as she goes through the unbearably mundane instructions. She finishes the test an hour early and spends the remaining time trying not to think about the stupid spring dance.

(She doesn’t want to think about it because if she does, she’ll think about how she went dress shopping with her abuela over the weekend, with a list of Kurt Hummel-approved stores to visit. She’ll think about how her grandma asked her what kind of corsage her boyfriend was going to get her, and how Santana just didn’t know what to say at all. She’ll think about how her abuela wouldn’t let go of the subject and she’ll wish, for the hundredth time, that she knew how to lie to her favorite person in the world.

But she doesn’t know how to lie and she doesn’t know how to not-think about things, so she keeps picturing her grandma’s face, how disappointment was written all over it and how it’s been four days since they’ve talked.)

“Hey.”

Santana sits up straighter and turns around to find the source of the whisper. There Brittany is, in the row to her left a few seats behind her.

“We’re not supposed to be talking,” Santana whispers back.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Hagberg’s sleeping. And I’m done anyway.” She shakes her test pamphlet.

Santana smiles a little. “Me, too.”

“I know,” Brittany replies. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while. Are you okay?”

Santana frowns and fidgets in her chair. “Just perfect.”

Brittany waits for a moment. “Okay.” She gives Mrs. Hagberg one more glance (Santana watches her lip ruffle with a snore), and then she gets up and taps the shoulder of the kid next to Santana. “Um, hi. You need to switch seats with me.”

“Why?”

Brittany rambles about how she needs to be sitting in that exact seat to pass the test and he leaves ten seconds into her theories about atmospheric influence on academic intelligence.

Santana laughs and just stares at Brittany for a while. “What _was_ that?”

“What?”

“That. Whatever you just said. Where did it come from?”

Brittany shrugs. “I don’t know; my dad is a scientist and talks a lot at dinner. I don’t always understand what he’s saying but I try to listen anyway.”

“Cool,” Santana smiles.

“So do you want to talk about it?” Brittany pries.

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s got you so sad.” She swivels in her chair so she can see Santana better. “Maybe I can’t always understand my dad, but I bet I could understand you.”

“I don’t know.” Santana takes a deep breath and looks away. “I told my grandma something important this weekend and now she won’t talk to me,” she admits.

“What was it?” But Santana doesn’t answer. “Okay, well can I tell _you_ something?”

“Sure,” Santana mumbles.

“Whatever your grandma said, she was wrong.”

Santana turns her head to look at Brittany. “You don’t even know what I told her.”

Brittany smiles, slow and coy and a little sheepish. “I think I can guess.”

Santana doesn’t say anything. She won’t say anything, not for the rest of the period or even in the days and weeks after it, when she hurries past Brittany in the halls. But she will let Brittany stretch her hand between their desks, and will take hold of the pinky that’s offered.

/

**three.**

Technically Brittany is trespassing the next time Santana sees her. It’s a closed Glee rehearsal in the auditorium and Rachel has become even crazier about rules now that Nationals is so close. She’s running everyone through the numbers and she’s got Santana singing so much that her voice is bound to give out any day now.

But she can’t complain because she’s got a solo slot at Nationals and she got it without any kind of manipulation. There was a contest, people voted, and she won. And she may hate Rachel for working her to the bone, but fuck if she’s going to mess it up. There are few things Santana is genuinely serious about, and music is one of them.

(It doesn’t help either that Santana’s been thinking about Brittany more than a little ever since the test. Not enough to find her in the halls or outside of school, but enough for Quinn to notice and call her out on it. Thankfully, there’s a way to avoid both the nervous pleasure of thinking about Brittany and Quinn’s nagging, and that way is Rachel Berry and Nationals.

Rachel may be insufferable sometimes, but Santana would rather suffer her right now than anything else.)

She’s been singing “Girl on Fire” so much that she’s sure she’s going to burst into flames. Rachel gives her a death glare when she says she needs water, but Santana doesn’t pay attention. She leaves through the stage door and takes a deep breath of not-auditorium air.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

Santana jumps and finds Brittany standing near the water fountain to her left.

“I mean, I knew you could sing,” Brittany continues, “but I didn’t know you could sing like _that_.”

“Thanks,” Santana smiles.

“When’s Nationals?” Brittany asks.

“Two weeks. In New York.”

“Man, I wish I could go with you guys. I’ve never been. Although,” she says, and her eyes twinkle with mischief when she does, “at least we’ll get the auditorium back while you’re gone.”

Santana furrows her brows. “We?”

“Yeah, I’m on Synchrony. You know, the dance group? We’ve got our last recital coming up and the gym sucks as a rehearsal space.”

“You can dance?” is all Santana thinks to say.

Brittany smiles really wide. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at it.”

Santana smiles back. “Well maybe I could get you an extra ticket to Nationals. We could always use a cheerleader.”

“Dancers are totally different than cheerleaders. We’re better.”

“Okay.” Santana changes tack. “Then I’ll get you a press pass.”

“Ooh, sounds official. I like that.”

Santana laughs and listens as Brittany talks about working on the newspaper and how much she loves it, and she’s halfway to seriously asking Mr. Schue if she can bring a friend when Brittany mentions that her dance thing is the same weekend as Nationals.

Still, after they place third, there’s an article in _The Muckraker_ about their performance. Santana high-fives Artie the next time she sees him.

The glee club might just be a huge gathering of nerds, but they’re _her_ nerds.

/

(Brittany spends the summer road-tripping around the country with her best friend Sugar, and Santana knows this because she can’t stop reading their blog, _Sugar and Spierce._ It’s a great blog and Santana loves reading it, but sometimes it makes her sad because just when their schedules start to free up, she and Brittany aren’t in the same place.

She’d promised Quinn she’d do something once the school year ended, and now she has to wait until September to follow through.)

/

**four.**

It’s Brittany’s fault that she’s there. That’s what Santana will tell Quinn when she inevitably makes fun of her for doing what she’s about to do. But Santana is going to do it anyway, because she’s spent the summer reading about diners and weird motels in every state and thinking about the blond-haired dancer who gets to experience them. So it’s Brittany’s fault.

It’s Brittany’s fault that she’s ushering in junior year on the football field, in a ridiculous skirt trying out for the Cheerios with a bunch of freshmen. She almost didn’t make the tryouts, but Coach Sylvester was desperate after losing so many seniors. She took one look at Santana and asked her if she was afraid of heights. Santana shook her head and Coach had just smiled. _I’m looking for flyers, not fallers, Mexico_ , Coach said. _You wanna fly?_

When Santana said yes, she wasn’t thinking about cheerleading.

Midway through the first routine, Santana knows she’s going to make the squad. Everyone else sucks. So she starts scanning through the rest of the girls waiting to try out. She’s trying to be stealthy and avoid Coach’s glare, which is why she almost misses her. But Brittany smiles just a second after Santana makes eye contact with her, and Santana can’t help smiling either.

“I thought dancing was better,” she says when the group at the sidelines takes their turn.

“It is,” Brittany replies, running backwards. “I thought you said you could use a cheerleader.”

“We could.”

“Not Glee—you,” Brittany yells as she gets in place between the other hopefuls.

“I can!” Santana yells back.

They make the squad.

/

Quinn calls her a chicken at least four times a week once Cheerios practice starts. It has nothing to do with the cheerleading—Quinn wouldn’t be caught dead in something so high school—just one cheerleader in particular. Santana spent a lot of time with Brittany now. They choreographed routines and had lunch the same period. She had so many opportunities every day to do something.

But when faced with so much fire and potential, Santana went cold.

So she keeps their interactions friendly and brief and endures Quinn’s nagging. It isn’t that she’s afraid of finally having a girlfriend. Just maybe that she’s afraid of having _Brittany_ as her girlfriend. Brittany, who expects nothing of or from her. Santana has met a lot of people who want to take things from her; who take things from her without asking or even realize they’re doing it.

Brittany isn’t asking any questions, but Santana still feels like she should have some answers. Until she does, she’ll keep her distance.

It’s a good plan until Brittany starts her campaign for junior class president. Santana is hurt at first because she and Brittany have become closer lately, but Brittany didn’t mention that she wanted to run. Santana found out like everyone else, when the announcement of candidates came over the PA system.

She doesn’t think about it until she’s walking to glee rehearsal and hears some kids in the hall freaking out about a flashmob. They’re running from all corners of the school trying to follow it, but Santana finds it first. There Brittany is, dancing for all she’s worth in the choir room, Beyoncé’s “Run the World” blasting over the speakers.

The _one_ day Santana’s late for glee.

She watches from the doorway. Santana believed Brittany when she said she was on the dance team. She’s seen her perform enough cheers to know that she’s got an excellent sense of rhythm. But she didn’t know Brittany could dance like _that_.

Brittany catches her eye as she dances out of the classroom, and the wink she throws tells Santana that her feelings are plastered all over her face.

Santana sits in the front row and pays very close attention to rehearsal even though she can’t stand Mr. Schue’s patronizing smile.

She refuses to look at Quinn.

/

**five.**

Santana watches Brittany a lot after that. She’s really busy with Cheerios and dancing and the campaign, so they get even fewer chances to talk. It’s okay though, because it gives Santana time to prepare what she’ll eventually say when they have the time.

(She decided to start listening to Quinn when she spotted Brittany in the hall one day, dancing and handing out “President Pierce” balloons to a group of girls. It was the way they were looking at her that did it, like Brittany was magic and they were her captivated audience.

Santana is pretty sure magicians are only allowed one assistant, and she is very determined to get the job.)

/

**six.**

The start of second semester is proving to be a very good one. Glee is going really well, Brittany’s schedule is less cluttered, and, as they both find out on the first day of classes, they’ve got history together.

Brittany gets there just before the bell rings. She spots Santana sitting in the back but the only seat left to her is at the front of the classroom. She pouts playfully and sits down, pulling out a box of Dots and eating a couple. Santana knows that Brittany will pick out the green ones—apparently they taste empty.

Once the teacher’s back is turned, Brittany swivels in Santana’s direction and gives her a little wave. Santana smiles in return. She pulls out her phone when Brittany turns around.

_I have a bill I’d like to discuss with you, Madame President._

Santana watches as Brittany slides her phone out of her bag, deftly hiding it with her Cheerios skirt.

 **[From: Brittany]** _I’m afraid I can’t discuss anything political over the phone, Ms. Lopez._

_That’s alright; this isn’t political. But I do think it’s against the law for you not to have a First Lady._

**[From: Brittany]** _That sounds like something we should talk about for a long time while sharing a delicious basket of garlic bread. Pick me up at seven?_

Santana just smiles.


End file.
